Post by Delilah A. Black on May 5, 2009 18:46:29 GMT -5
How it happened...
It was raining hard in San Francisco this day. Not an unusual occurance and not entirely an unwelcome one. The city had a three day dry spell and it could use some of the warm rain the Pacific brought. The rain fell, drumming rythmically against windows, roofs, streets, those nifty little carts that towed around everywhere, nourishing the city and refreshing the world with the distinct scent of ozone.
Breathe in...
"Hsssshhhh...."
...and out.
"...haaaaaaaa...."
Smiling, completely rain drenched and training slowly in a park temporarily abandoned due to the down pour, Delilah felt better than she had since leaving 259 and Long Beach a few weeks before. She loved the rain. Loved it loved it loved it. It felt like every flake of concrete she'd ever destroyed, every drop of blood she'd ever spilled, every electric shock she'd ever recieved from her troublesome amplifier was wiped away in those moments where the rain made her ebony and red hair stick in wisps to her face and neck, and plastered her torn faded gray Rolling Stones muscle shirt to her muscular frame. She moved silently through the stances of her art, exaggerating the motions and her breathing for fluidity's sake. It looked like a more violent form of tai-chi.
Shizen no kamae.
She stood still, standing normally with her eyes closed.
...Hiro no kamae-
Delilah shifted her body to the left, spreading her arms wide, as if avoiding an overhead blow of a sword or crowbar or hammer.
...Hichou no kamae-
Raising her arms protectively and her right leg at the same time, Delilah kicked out at the air slowly, her motion appearing as though she were kicking down a door. She planted her foot slowly, already beginning another stance as it touched the ground, her hands still up--
....Ihen kamae-
--and her weight was shifted on her lead (right) leg, the offensive version of the following stance;
...Ichimonji no kamae-
The weight in her lead leg transferred back to her left leg, turning offensive into defensive. She began reaching out in a circle with her right (lead) arm for the next stance...
"HEY BITCH--!"
A jolt of adrenalin ripped through her body and she suddenly turned her next stance into an impromptu side roll, landing again on her feet, hands up protectively in front of her and close to her, guarding her ribs. That had caught her off guard, she exhaled when she notcied no immediate danger and relaxed into Shizen.
A group of guys were standing nearby in the parking lot beside an rusty dark-blue Oldsmobile Regency, '89. A couple of them were shirtless, most had muscle shirts, like Delilah, but there was one thing Delilah noticed about them almost instantly; they were all bald, had bandannas tied around their head or neck, and they all sported a tattoo with a wasp or bee or some yellow stinging insect on their left pectoral, easily visible through the rain drenched white shirts. They didn't look impressed for some reason. One, sporting a goatee and 'bling' hopped the cement blockade that separated the park and the parking lot.
"Where the fuck is it, bitch?"
She raised her peirced eyebrow and her nerves tingled beneath her skin. She restrained her reflexes, though this guy was radiating intent. "Beg pardon?"
"You know damn well what the fuck what, now where is it, BITCH?" he was getting closer, probably about ten feet away. Delilah's knuckles began to itch. It would be sooo damn easy to just give him a little tap against the jugular, make him go night-night, make all this go away before it began...
Tempting...
She restrained herself and shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe I could help--"
The guy pulled a gun out of his pants and cocked it at her sideways, 'gangster' style. Her eyes widened a little out of reflex, not because she was surprised. She started waving it at her. "You see dis? You see DIS, BITCH?!" He came closer and she found herself having to restrain again. "DIS is what I'm gonna kill you wid, BITCH if you don't gimme and my gang back the juice."
Now Delilah's eyebrows drew together in confusion. Juice? Oookay, thats a new one. Her heart was beginning to beat a little faster. He was now four feet away. "Look, I don't want any trouble, I really didn't t--"
A shot fired close to her head, just grazing her right shoulder. She flinched and inhaled sharply, but otherwise didn't move. She didn't scream. Her eyes narrowed. The rain stung the abrasion, but she ignored it, isolating the pain until tending to her pain mattered. Her ears were ringing now too. Crap.
"Next time, I won't miss. Now then. Where. Is. The juice?"
She remained silent, ready to roll to the side and book it if she needed too, but pushed all her intent at him and the group traiing behind him at the same time. Several hundred years ago, samurai would engage in battles such as these, known today as a 'battle of wills'. Basically, who ever thought first or was afraid first, was cut first, but mostly, duels ever actually came to blows. The person with the iron won out first. If two people have iron will and are pushing against nothing, it is always the first person to think who is struck first. Delilah was afraid of this, despite her indomnitable will. He had a gun, after all. She had nothing. She had been taught too, hell, even knew how to, deal with guns and situations such as these. She could take him out easily. His friends, who probably also had guns, not so much. The best she could hope for was a distraction and get the fuck outta there before she got more hurt than she already was.
One of the gang members who noticed the mounting tension tenatively spoke up. "Yo, Blaze, maybe we should check the bitch and see if she actually has the stuff on her. Killin' her for stealin' the jib is one thing, but what if she's not lyin'?"
"Well then, WHO THE FUCK TOOK IT THEN, REX?" The man now known as 'Blaze' (What a stupid gang name... she thought privately) ran a restles hand over his bald head, clearly distressed over the loss of his 'juice' and 'jib' (she knew what that meant at least. Meth.) She held her breath before he nodded his head. "Fine...FINE, check her or whatever, just do it fast, alrigh'?" he jabbed the gun at her. "Putcher hands above your head. C'mon, bitch DO IT!" He was practically hysterical now. That was bad. She lifted her hands in a posture of surrender while his friends crowded around her.
Two held her legs while the other two began feeling their way up and down her body leaving nothing untouched, even reaching into her bra and panties to make sure the drugs weren't there. Their hands felt like worms to Delilah, made her want to cringe and cower from them, or at the very least castrate them all with her hands. She did not. She held her head high, jaw squared, eyes unwavering. Finally, the two checking her over stepped back, looking at 'Blaze' with a shrug.
"She dun have it, man." said the one on her left
"What the FUCK!!!" Blaze turned away from them for a moment in complete distress, clearly on the brink of tears. "Man, what are we gonna do? Devon is gonna KILL US."
"You mean kill you,"
The gun in Blaze's hand suddenly came back up in their direction and every body flinched violently except Delilah. The man was crying now, panicking like a man who knows he's about to die. "You shut your goddamn mouth Carlos. You shut your goddamn mouth before I FUCKING SHOOT IT OFF, YOU HEAR ME?!"
"Y-yeah man, chill," She could fel 'Carlos' backing away from her slowly. "I didn' mean nuthin' by it, I swear,"
"Hey," one of the two still at her feet holding her legs (and none to subtely feeling her ass) lifted her pant leg. "This chick's in a gang,"
Delilah's eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat. Oh SHIT.
The whole world seemed to pause for a minute as the men around her registered that. Blaze smiled. "Oh really?" He started closer. "What gang is she from?"
One of the guys who inspected her came closer and raised an eyebrow. "I 'unno man. What gang has a wolf howling?"
The group looked stumped for a moment and Delilah was about to open her mouth to lie when Carlos spoke up again.
"It's that group from Long Beach. Militia. I heard about it from my cousin, who lived there." He looked around at the faces, before looking at him with contempt and now seeing admiration in their eyes. He continued, "They took out the correctional fa-whatever there and jes' OWNED the joint, man. Them guys have lots of money,"
Blaze grinned and started to laugh, and slowly the other guys did too. He was now standing toe to toe with Delilah, looking down ito her flashing, rage filled blue eyes. "Well, well." he cupped her face roughly with his hand. "I think I just shot me a free pass into downtown witchu, bit--."
She bit into his hand. Hard. She tasted blood, bone and gunpowder.
Blaze screamed, reeling and stumbling back, clutching his bitten hand. The guys around her instantly let go of her legs as he aimed his gun at her again, "You be goin back to your faggot game in a body box, BITCH!!" He fired.
Delilah side rolled out of the way, nearly running into 'Rex'. Instead of pushing past him, she pulled him close into a bear hug and turned him in front of her as Blaze fired another two shots into his gang-mates chest. Throwing aside the writhing body, Delilah continued to run, disappearing into the trees with shouting and teh fianal two shots in the gun ringing out behind her.
"DON' LET THAT BITCH GET AWAY!!"
***
Racing up some random residential street nearly a half hour later, Delilah was just about ready to collapse. She had been running hard, away from the gang that was chasing her in their car. She jumped fences, ran over the hoods of moving cars, ran across roofs, but this wasn't enough to evade them.
Except this time. She stopped for a second, bending over with her hands on her knees, feeling nauseous from the exertion. Delilah felt like she finally lost them in that junk yard. She had leapt through some bonfire a few hobos had lit with gasoline to keep warm in the rain. She straightened and took a deep, refreshing breath, drenched with a mixture of sweat and rain. Okay...now to go ho-
Tires screeched around the corner behind her and more shots were fired, missing completely.
"Aw FUCK,". She dashed into a neighbours yard, hopped the fence into the back yard, kicked the yapping German shepard in the face, jumped the fence again, ran across the alley and jumped that fence, raced around to the front door and tried the handle. Locked. And no time to pick it. Worry starting to fester, she began pounding on it so hard, it made the hinges rattle.
If the door weren't opened soon, Delilah would take matters into her own hands and kick the door in. If that didn't work, the next option was, of course, a window.
If the door was opened before her patience ran out, she would shove whoever opened the door inside and slam it closed, locking it and barring the door with whatever furniture was handy before collapsing against the wall, breathing in ragged gasps.
It was raining hard in San Francisco this day. Not an unusual occurance and not entirely an unwelcome one. The city had a three day dry spell and it could use some of the warm rain the Pacific brought. The rain fell, drumming rythmically against windows, roofs, streets, those nifty little carts that towed around everywhere, nourishing the city and refreshing the world with the distinct scent of ozone.
Breathe in...
"Hsssshhhh...."
...and out.
"...haaaaaaaa...."
Smiling, completely rain drenched and training slowly in a park temporarily abandoned due to the down pour, Delilah felt better than she had since leaving 259 and Long Beach a few weeks before. She loved the rain. Loved it loved it loved it. It felt like every flake of concrete she'd ever destroyed, every drop of blood she'd ever spilled, every electric shock she'd ever recieved from her troublesome amplifier was wiped away in those moments where the rain made her ebony and red hair stick in wisps to her face and neck, and plastered her torn faded gray Rolling Stones muscle shirt to her muscular frame. She moved silently through the stances of her art, exaggerating the motions and her breathing for fluidity's sake. It looked like a more violent form of tai-chi.
Shizen no kamae.
She stood still, standing normally with her eyes closed.
...Hiro no kamae-
Delilah shifted her body to the left, spreading her arms wide, as if avoiding an overhead blow of a sword or crowbar or hammer.
...Hichou no kamae-
Raising her arms protectively and her right leg at the same time, Delilah kicked out at the air slowly, her motion appearing as though she were kicking down a door. She planted her foot slowly, already beginning another stance as it touched the ground, her hands still up--
....Ihen kamae-
--and her weight was shifted on her lead (right) leg, the offensive version of the following stance;
...Ichimonji no kamae-
The weight in her lead leg transferred back to her left leg, turning offensive into defensive. She began reaching out in a circle with her right (lead) arm for the next stance...
"HEY BITCH--!"
A jolt of adrenalin ripped through her body and she suddenly turned her next stance into an impromptu side roll, landing again on her feet, hands up protectively in front of her and close to her, guarding her ribs. That had caught her off guard, she exhaled when she notcied no immediate danger and relaxed into Shizen.
A group of guys were standing nearby in the parking lot beside an rusty dark-blue Oldsmobile Regency, '89. A couple of them were shirtless, most had muscle shirts, like Delilah, but there was one thing Delilah noticed about them almost instantly; they were all bald, had bandannas tied around their head or neck, and they all sported a tattoo with a wasp or bee or some yellow stinging insect on their left pectoral, easily visible through the rain drenched white shirts. They didn't look impressed for some reason. One, sporting a goatee and 'bling' hopped the cement blockade that separated the park and the parking lot.
"Where the fuck is it, bitch?"
She raised her peirced eyebrow and her nerves tingled beneath her skin. She restrained her reflexes, though this guy was radiating intent. "Beg pardon?"
"You know damn well what the fuck what, now where is it, BITCH?" he was getting closer, probably about ten feet away. Delilah's knuckles began to itch. It would be sooo damn easy to just give him a little tap against the jugular, make him go night-night, make all this go away before it began...
Tempting...
She restrained herself and shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe I could help--"
The guy pulled a gun out of his pants and cocked it at her sideways, 'gangster' style. Her eyes widened a little out of reflex, not because she was surprised. She started waving it at her. "You see dis? You see DIS, BITCH?!" He came closer and she found herself having to restrain again. "DIS is what I'm gonna kill you wid, BITCH if you don't gimme and my gang back the juice."
Now Delilah's eyebrows drew together in confusion. Juice? Oookay, thats a new one. Her heart was beginning to beat a little faster. He was now four feet away. "Look, I don't want any trouble, I really didn't t--"
A shot fired close to her head, just grazing her right shoulder. She flinched and inhaled sharply, but otherwise didn't move. She didn't scream. Her eyes narrowed. The rain stung the abrasion, but she ignored it, isolating the pain until tending to her pain mattered. Her ears were ringing now too. Crap.
"Next time, I won't miss. Now then. Where. Is. The juice?"
She remained silent, ready to roll to the side and book it if she needed too, but pushed all her intent at him and the group traiing behind him at the same time. Several hundred years ago, samurai would engage in battles such as these, known today as a 'battle of wills'. Basically, who ever thought first or was afraid first, was cut first, but mostly, duels ever actually came to blows. The person with the iron won out first. If two people have iron will and are pushing against nothing, it is always the first person to think who is struck first. Delilah was afraid of this, despite her indomnitable will. He had a gun, after all. She had nothing. She had been taught too, hell, even knew how to, deal with guns and situations such as these. She could take him out easily. His friends, who probably also had guns, not so much. The best she could hope for was a distraction and get the fuck outta there before she got more hurt than she already was.
One of the gang members who noticed the mounting tension tenatively spoke up. "Yo, Blaze, maybe we should check the bitch and see if she actually has the stuff on her. Killin' her for stealin' the jib is one thing, but what if she's not lyin'?"
"Well then, WHO THE FUCK TOOK IT THEN, REX?" The man now known as 'Blaze' (What a stupid gang name... she thought privately) ran a restles hand over his bald head, clearly distressed over the loss of his 'juice' and 'jib' (she knew what that meant at least. Meth.) She held her breath before he nodded his head. "Fine...FINE, check her or whatever, just do it fast, alrigh'?" he jabbed the gun at her. "Putcher hands above your head. C'mon, bitch DO IT!" He was practically hysterical now. That was bad. She lifted her hands in a posture of surrender while his friends crowded around her.
Two held her legs while the other two began feeling their way up and down her body leaving nothing untouched, even reaching into her bra and panties to make sure the drugs weren't there. Their hands felt like worms to Delilah, made her want to cringe and cower from them, or at the very least castrate them all with her hands. She did not. She held her head high, jaw squared, eyes unwavering. Finally, the two checking her over stepped back, looking at 'Blaze' with a shrug.
"She dun have it, man." said the one on her left
"What the FUCK!!!" Blaze turned away from them for a moment in complete distress, clearly on the brink of tears. "Man, what are we gonna do? Devon is gonna KILL US."
"You mean kill you,"
The gun in Blaze's hand suddenly came back up in their direction and every body flinched violently except Delilah. The man was crying now, panicking like a man who knows he's about to die. "You shut your goddamn mouth Carlos. You shut your goddamn mouth before I FUCKING SHOOT IT OFF, YOU HEAR ME?!"
"Y-yeah man, chill," She could fel 'Carlos' backing away from her slowly. "I didn' mean nuthin' by it, I swear,"
"Hey," one of the two still at her feet holding her legs (and none to subtely feeling her ass) lifted her pant leg. "This chick's in a gang,"
Delilah's eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat. Oh SHIT.
The whole world seemed to pause for a minute as the men around her registered that. Blaze smiled. "Oh really?" He started closer. "What gang is she from?"
One of the guys who inspected her came closer and raised an eyebrow. "I 'unno man. What gang has a wolf howling?"
The group looked stumped for a moment and Delilah was about to open her mouth to lie when Carlos spoke up again.
"It's that group from Long Beach. Militia. I heard about it from my cousin, who lived there." He looked around at the faces, before looking at him with contempt and now seeing admiration in their eyes. He continued, "They took out the correctional fa-whatever there and jes' OWNED the joint, man. Them guys have lots of money,"
Blaze grinned and started to laugh, and slowly the other guys did too. He was now standing toe to toe with Delilah, looking down ito her flashing, rage filled blue eyes. "Well, well." he cupped her face roughly with his hand. "I think I just shot me a free pass into downtown witchu, bit--."
She bit into his hand. Hard. She tasted blood, bone and gunpowder.
Blaze screamed, reeling and stumbling back, clutching his bitten hand. The guys around her instantly let go of her legs as he aimed his gun at her again, "You be goin back to your faggot game in a body box, BITCH!!" He fired.
Delilah side rolled out of the way, nearly running into 'Rex'. Instead of pushing past him, she pulled him close into a bear hug and turned him in front of her as Blaze fired another two shots into his gang-mates chest. Throwing aside the writhing body, Delilah continued to run, disappearing into the trees with shouting and teh fianal two shots in the gun ringing out behind her.
"DON' LET THAT BITCH GET AWAY!!"
***
Racing up some random residential street nearly a half hour later, Delilah was just about ready to collapse. She had been running hard, away from the gang that was chasing her in their car. She jumped fences, ran over the hoods of moving cars, ran across roofs, but this wasn't enough to evade them.
Except this time. She stopped for a second, bending over with her hands on her knees, feeling nauseous from the exertion. Delilah felt like she finally lost them in that junk yard. She had leapt through some bonfire a few hobos had lit with gasoline to keep warm in the rain. She straightened and took a deep, refreshing breath, drenched with a mixture of sweat and rain. Okay...now to go ho-
Tires screeched around the corner behind her and more shots were fired, missing completely.
"Aw FUCK,". She dashed into a neighbours yard, hopped the fence into the back yard, kicked the yapping German shepard in the face, jumped the fence again, ran across the alley and jumped that fence, raced around to the front door and tried the handle. Locked. And no time to pick it. Worry starting to fester, she began pounding on it so hard, it made the hinges rattle.
If the door weren't opened soon, Delilah would take matters into her own hands and kick the door in. If that didn't work, the next option was, of course, a window.
If the door was opened before her patience ran out, she would shove whoever opened the door inside and slam it closed, locking it and barring the door with whatever furniture was handy before collapsing against the wall, breathing in ragged gasps.
(OOC: 2181 words! WOO! Now that is an intro post!)
